


Scar

by Kumikoko



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kumikoko/pseuds/Kumikoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maribelle hosts parties that she expects to proceed flawlessly, but Brady just can't not mess up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that Maribelle is a noble and not royalty. However, I figured she's the type to have a mock-throne room. 
> 
> I have made Brady be friends with his parents of course, and some of the other characters. However, none of them are too receptive to the sentimental man. Actually, Maribelle herself is quite brickbat with him. The poor guy can't catch a break at all. ):
> 
> I do not own the characters.

**Scar**

“Again.” Maribelle demanded, for what was the hundredth time just today. 

“Nah, Mah! I’m out!” Brady said, as he stood up with visible frustration.

“If you walk out that door, young man, your father shall hear about this, and then there will be no jokes during tea time today.” Maribelle warned her defiant son.

For a moment, they stared at each other, their wills clashing against each other in a silent battle.

Maribelle won.

“Argh!” Brady groaned with disgruntlement as he plopped back down on the chair. “This is _stupi_ d!” Brady complained, and continued, “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Only a cur does not find the strumming of strings appealing, Dear. Now, play it again with a smile on your sour face.” Maribelle commanded, her word law itself.

“Pft!” Brady scoffed, but forced his lips to turn upwards as his raw fingers started to thrum the violin strings.

“That’s more like it.” Maribelle grinned with satisfaction.

There was still hope for Brady the musician yet.

**. . .**

“Do you think you’re pushing him to an early death?” Ricken inquired as he sat next to Maribelle in the throne room.

“I do not. This was just the way I was raised and I turned out better than everyone else.” Maribelle replied, and looked upon her son whom stood between, yet in front of them, facing their audience.

“That’s what I am worried about…” Ricken muttered grimly under his breath.

“What say you?” Maribelle asked sharply, warning in her tone, that made Ricken sit up straighter.

“Nothing, Love.” Ricken forced a smile to his controlling wife.

“Is he not just? Playing the finest classics.” Maribelle smiled with pride as she again gazed upon her young son.

“He is.” Ricken nodded, while Brady continued to strum his fingers against the strings of the violin. He knew to smile, stand straight and to not mess up.

Ever.

“Damn!” Brady swore as one of the strings snapped, and smacked him in his face.

A deafening silence befell the room.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Brady began to cry, despite being in front of family and friends alike.

Ricken’s arm shot out in an attempt to grab Maribelle’s arm but she was already standing and twirling Brady around to face her. His little face was twisted in pain, and wet with oncoming tears as blood dripped down his face.

“You didn’t check your strings before you went on stage?” Maribelle asked, with no mention to the wound sustained on the child’s face.

“I—I didn’t have time! You pulled me here!” Brady said, as he tried to regain composure. The sight of his own blood dripping off of his eyelash and onto his cheek made his heart race quicker.

“That is no excuse. You go wash up and march back here to apologize to these people for ruining their night—and then apologize to me for embarrassing me in front of all our friends.” Maribelle told him. Brady opened his mouth to protest, but Maribelle spoke over him. “Now!”

Henry sighed, but said nothing at Maribelle’s comments.

Instead of following Maribelle’s command, Brady stalked outside, into the courtyard to receive some fresh air. He sucked in sharp breath and rubbed fervently at his face.

Maribelle could have healed him, but then, he wouldn’t have learned his lesson—that he knew. It bothered him though, that Maribelle was so brickbat with him. He had watched Sumia for example, coddle Cynthia before when the stupid girl had fallen on her face—actually, both of them were hopelessly stupid, but they had love, something Brady didn’t feel enough of from his own parents.

They were both too preoccupied with their own things in life to see that Brady needed more positive attention than he was receiving.

“Oh my.”

Looking over his shoulder, Brady saw the priest—what was his name again?—Libra?—walk towards him.

“That is a fearful cut. Your mother didn’t heal it for you?” Libra inquired, as he stopped his gait in front of Brady.

“No. She never does. She heals everyone else, though.” Brady grumbled, folding his arms across his chest in a huff.

“I see. I suppose she wishes you to be strong.” Libra guessed, and pulled a handkerchief out of his robe.

“I’m not strong though! I am—I am—me!” Brady exclaimed, but was largely unsure of how to describe himself.

“So you are. The great Naga could be thanked for that just as much as your parents are.” Libra said and dabbed the blood off of Brady’s face.

“Naga? A snake?” Brady frowned, not understanding the reference.

“No, _Naga_. The one who rescued me from my neglectful parents.” Libra explained, and pulled the cloth away from Brady’s face.

“Oh.” Brady blinked, not really comprehending the importance.

“Naga protects over us when our parents cannot. If not for him, I wouldn’t be here right now, and quite possibly, none of us would.” Libra told the young boy, and wiped some of the tears away with his thumbs.

“Will He make Ma nice to me?” Brady inquired, his voice desperate.

“Unfortunately, your mother has always been…the way she is, and just as you wish them not to change who you are, she shouldn’t be changed either.” Libra explained gently.

“Ugh.” Brady grumbled, dissatisfied with the answer.

“Brady!” Maribelle’s sharp tone made them both jump and stand rigid.

“Coming, Ma.” Brady said and ran grudgingly—but obediently to her.

This was going to be a long night.


End file.
